


Common Ground(s for dismissal)

by skyenapped



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Accidental Incest, Alternate Universe - Related, Angst, Coincidences, M/M, Moral Dilemmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-03-06 06:58:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3125258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyenapped/pseuds/skyenapped
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike thought he was going to stop breathing. The woman in the picture was a lot younger than he remembered his mother being, and she was holding a toddler that wasn't him – but who looked vaguely familiar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I got this plot bunny a while ago, and it's pretty far-fetched. So of course I had to write it. I didn't spend much time editing; please forgive me for any typos. 
> 
> Suspend your disbelief and leave your morals at the door.

 

*

 

Harvey was aloof at first, which didn’t entirely surprise Mike. King of one night stands and a well-known fear of commitment, Harvey wasn’t the kind of person who was going to wine and dine anyone. Mike would be lying if he said he hadn’t hoped that it would be different; that _he_ would be the exception. But for two months, that just wasn’t the case.

For two months it was just sex. Well, Mike hesitated to use the word _just,_ since it was more like _amazing._ And for a little while, he was so giddy and happy just to be with Harvey in any capacity – to have his undivided attention outside of work – that Mike kept all of his emotions to himself and, so far, had managed not to let an _I love you_ slip out when Harvey’s face was pressed into Mike’s neck and his breaths were slowly returning to normal.

But, like clockwork, Harvey would always end up on the couch, and Mike would wake up to an empty side of the bed. Finally, one night, six weeks in to their relationship – although he knew it wasn’t really; that it might not be anything at all to Harvey – Mike worked up the courage to ask the question that had been running through his head since the first night Harvey had taken him home for reasons other than working on a case.

Mike had been sitting on the edge of the bed in boxers and a t-shirt Harvey had thrown him the week before, just watching him through the open bathroom door where Harvey was brushing his teeth. When he walked out – surely on his way to grab a pillow and head to the living room – Mike took a deep breath.

“Why don’t you ever stay in bed?”

It seemed like Harvey hadn’t heard him, and Mike was about to ask again when he heard Harvey mutter, “Here we go,” with a sigh.

Mike frowned in confusion. “What does that mean?”

“It means we shouldn’t be doing this,” Harvey explained, a little too bluntly.

“But we are.”

“Listen, Mike, do you have any idea how much trouble I could get in for this?”

“By who, Jessica?” Mike would have laughed if he wasn’t so sad. “Like she’d even do anything about it. And you don’t answer to anyone else.”

Typically, Harvey would have responded to Mike’s tone in a way that was less than civil, maybe even harsher than that. But he didn’t want to risk the possibility of not getting Mike in his bed again, so he just softened his tone.

“That’s not the point.”

Defeated, Mike didn’t say anything else. Once Harvey had made up his mind, there was no changing it. Mike knew that, although he still tried on more than a few occasions. This particular instance, however, seemed pointless and he didn’t want to argue, so he backed off.

Seeing Harvey grab a pillow, like his nightly ritual, Mike stood up and started to pull it gently from his hands.

“I’ll take the couch. You should get to sleep in your own bed.”

“Fine,” Harvey said, letting go. He reached for a blanket. “Here.”

Mike left the room slowly, but Harvey didn’t stop him.

 

*

 

Another week went by, same deal. Mike would show up at ten o’clock, sometimes they’d drink first, but mostly within minutes of walking through the door, Harvey had him up against the wall, mouth on his neck, whispering orders into Mike’s ear because he knew he loved it. And Mike did. It felt like there was finally something he could do, something he was _good at_ besides work; something that shut his brain off for a little while. He may not have excelled at anything else in his life, but he could listen to Harvey. He could do what he was told.

It was harder to obey the ‘don’t talk about it’ rule, even though that had, technically, been an order too. And even if they stopped to talk over a glass of scotch, it was under the pretense of foreplay – never about anything related to their ongoing friends-with-benefits situation. Honestly, Mike didn’t know if they were as close of friends anymore. At work, things were business as usual; it was almost as though what was happening outside the office wasn’t happening at all. But at Harvey’s place, Mike felt uneasy, like he couldn’t say what he really wanted to say; didn’t want to risk never seeing Harvey in anything but a suit again. And he knew he was partly to blame. They were both failed communicators, with no experience with relationships lasting two weeks, let alone two _months._ He’d allowed Harvey to get away with treating him marginally better than someone he picked up in a bar, so Mike figured it was past the window of complaint, and, in a strange way, it was better than nothing.

 

*

 

One night – which had seemed like the usual routine at first – things took a bitter turn when Mike put on his clothes and turned to face Harvey from the other side of the bed.

“You say things,” he began, but his voice quickly trailed off.

“What?”

“In bed,” Mike replied. “Like…stuff.”

Harvey looked confused. “You don’t like it?”

“No, no, I do, it’s just—you say I’m…perfect…”

“Mike—”

“…But then you tell me to go sleep on the couch. I don’t know what that means, Harvey.”

“It doesn’t mean anything.”

“They why do you say it?”

“Mike.” Harvey looked frustrated, but also conflicted, and Mike didn’t know why. “I don’t know what it is you want me to say.”

“I don’t want you to say _anything_ if you don’t mean it!”

“You might want to stop while you’re ahead,” Harvey warned.

Mike held his ground. “Why?”

But Harvey had already started to walk away.

 “Harvey! Seriously? You can’t even talk to me about this?”

“Alright, you wanna talk?” Harvey spun around so fast, Mike took a step back. “Fine. We say all kinds of shit in bed we wouldn’t ever say anywhere else. I called you a slut a few times tonight, you want me to mean that too?”

Mike shook his head and Harvey barreled on.

“Didn’t think so. Next time I say you’re perfect, take it with a grain of salt. And let it go.”

Neither of them said anything after that. All of Harvey’s words, followed by complete silence, sounded like the intractable answer to a question Mike hadn’t known how to ask.

He grabbed his shoes and put them on like he was twenty minutes late to court.

“Where the hell are you going?”

“Home,” Mike answered, suddenly feeling claustrophobic despite all of the square feet. He was in such a hurry to get out of the bedroom that Harvey couldn’t have stopped him if he’d tried.

“Mike!” Harvey wasn’t far behind, but Mike was walking swiftly and purposefully towards the front door. “Mike, it’s two in the morning!”

“I don’t give a shit!” Mike shouted. He turned around at the door to see that Harvey had caught up, was only several feet away with an indecipherable expression on his face.

“At least text me when you get there.”

“Why do you even care?”

“Mike, if you didn’t know this was just sex, then I’m sorry, I should have told you,” Harvey said. “But if you think I don’t care about you at all?” He nodded toward Mike’s hand where it was in a tight grip on the door handle. “Then maybe you _should_ leave.”

It took Mike all of five seconds to hesitate before he pulled open the door and walked out.

 

*

 

In the wake of their fight, working together ultimately remained normal. Of course, there were instances where they were alone or in the car and a little tenseness was unavoidable. Inside, Mike wasn’t sure how much longer he could continue to keep _any_ of his feelings outside of work. He was impressed to have even lasted as long as he had. 

For Harvey’s sake, Mike remained quiet about it all. He didn’t think there would be any actual repercussions if the word got out, but he didn’t want to risk Harvey’s career, and he didn’t want anyone to think he’d slept his way to the top. 

So, lips sealed, he got through the day, one at a time. But he stopped showing up at Harvey’s door. He stopped following on the nights Harvey walked his cubicle and asked, “You coming, rookie?”

All he could ever force out in those moments was a quiet “I don’t think so. I’m…tired.” He kept his head down so he wouldn’t have to look Harvey in the eyes. He knew from experience if he did, there would be no way he could actually say no to him.

If Harvey was disappointed, it didn’t show. Mike thought he might be punished by more work, but he wasn’t, and he felt bad for assuming Harvey would be that spiteful or that manipulative. If either of them were to blame, Mike decided it was himself. He’d been entirely complicit and it was his fault for misreading the signals the whole time.

Of course, telling himself that never made him feel any better, especially when he started spending his nights back at his own apartment. It was smaller than he remembered, and painfully devoid of another person. Not only was one side of his bed empty, no one had even been there to start with.

He questioned his decision to decide that he didn’t want to be with Harvey if he couldn’t _be_ with him. It all had finally started to hurt enough that what they’d been doing just wasn’t enough. But on a Thursday night, alone watching TV, he ached for both reasons. And, he realized, that in the process of trying to save himself, he’d just caused twice the pain.

 

*

 

Saturday, Mike was in the same place. Only this time he had a beer in his hand and was momentarily distracted by all of the empty liquor bottles he’d finished off earlier that week. It looked like the place of an alcoholic, which was how he was starting to feel.

Another two days had passed. Two more days of timidly declining Harvey’s masked invites in the bullpen, and rushing home, all of which had ultimately led him here, ignoring Harvey’s texts and trying to resist getting so drunk he’d surely throw up.

_Come over._

Each time, Mike stared at the screen and his finger hovered over the keyboard until he worked up enough willpower to throw his phone across the couch and out of reach.

The knock on the door about an hour later jolted him out of the concentration he had on the TV. He stood up and answered it a little too quickly to consider who it probably was.

Harvey had his hand up before Mike could say anything, and it looked like it was a plea for the opportunity to talk. So Mike gave in and let him by.

“You didn’t answer my texts.”

“Yeah, I know. I didn’t because—”

“I know why you didn’t, Mike,” Harvey interrupted. “But you could’ve at least let me know you were alive. You can still say no to me after that.”

Mike laughed bitterly and looked away. “You know I can’t.”

“Mike—”

“Why are you even here, Harvey? Do you wanna fuck me, is that it? Okay. Tell me and I’ll do it.”

Harvey winced. “That’s not why I’m here.”

“Right.” Mike busied himself at the sink, pretending to clean so he could avoid looking at Harvey; Harvey in his casual-but-still-stupidly expensive clothes that were all the right size and the perfect color to bring out his eyes. It was ridiculous. “I’m sure you just came to remind me that we’re nothing and we never were but it’s still a great idea for me to go back to screwing you on the side.”

“No, that’s not—”

“Look, I get it, Harvey. You don’t commit to people, it’s not your thing, whatever. And it’s probably for the best, right? I mean, we don’t even have anything in common besides work. Even there you’re like twelve years better and ahead of me.” Mike took a deep breath and continued, hoping if he said it all out loud he might convince himself it was a good enough reason. “You get up at like 5am. I hate mornings. We don’t have the same friends, we don’t know the same people, we don’t like the same food. I live here, you live in your…castle in the sky – I don’t even know why the doorman lets me in – and…I was a screw up before I met you. You have everything together and I…I still feel like I’m just trying to survive sometimes.”

Harvey listened and waited until Mike was done before he spoke again.

“Mike. Sit down.” He pointed to the couch and Mike shrugged and collapsed onto it.

“Fine. What?”

“I meant what I said that night,” Harvey admitted, taking the empty space beside Mike. “Every night.”

“What?”

“You’re perfect. I meant that.”

Mike opened his mouth to reply but Harvey cut him off, clearly trying to play down the sudden confession with a joke.

“Not the slut part. I mean, not really.”

And Mike shook his head because he had to fight the corner of his mouth that crept into a smile from turning into a laugh. He hated and loved that Harvey still managed to have that effect on him.

“So…really? But you said—”

“I know what I said. I’m just…telling you what I meant.” Harvey sighed. “I’m not _good_ at this, Mike.”

“Yeah, I noticed.”

“I’ve never been with one person – only one person – for this long. Ever.”

“Really?”

“Really. And…there’s no instruction manual, no classes at Harvard that taught me how to get over what my mother did and make me think things would ever work out for me; that I wasn’t like her, didn’t have to be like her.”

“You thought you’d cheat?”

Harvey shook his head. “No. I knew I _wouldn’t.”_

Mike stared back for several seconds, noticed Harvey’s hands fidgeting for the first time, well, ever. And Mike realized why. “You thought I’d cheat on you.”

“I didn’t really think you would, I just…if it ever happened, I wouldn’t know how to deal with it. That’s why I didn’t tell you. It’s why I slept on the couch because I thought if we ever started waking up beside each other, I’d start getting use to that, and then I might wake up and you’d be gone.”

“Because that’s what happened to your dad?”

Harvey nodded solemnly. “Yeah. But…over and over. Or she’d just leave, for months at a time. But our dad was on the road a lot, and he never really noticed. I should have told him, I just… Marcus was only five. I practically raised him half the time and…I didn’t want to tear our family apart.”

“You were only sixteen,” Mike reminded him, and he wasn’t sure if was sympathy or empathy –probably combination of the two, when he thought about it  – but either way it compelled him to reach out for Harvey’s hand and hope he didn’t pull away.

Harvey didn’t. “I know. But I still should have told him.”

“Harvey…”

“It’s fine, Mike. I just…” He looked up and battled down a sniffle. “I just wanted you to know why I acted the way I did. It wasn’t…it wasn’t because I didn’t want more than what we were doing.”

Relief washed over Mike like a tidal wave. The whole time he’d thought he wasn’t good enough; just another notch in Harvey’s belt, even if Harvey had kept him around a little longer than most.

When he was younger, Mike had always imagined falling in love, but he’d forgotten to consider the other person might not love him back. And Harvey wasn’t saying he did – Mike knew they probably weren’t on the same page, at least not yet – but he wasn’t saying he _didn’t_ either.

Since Harvey seemed to be opening up – even _apologizing,_ which was a revelation all on its own – it gave Mike the courage to do the same. He hoped the common ground would make Harvey feel better – at least that he wasn’t alone – and not worse, but there was only one way to find out.

“I…” He started off poorly, voice a little shaky just one word in, but when Harvey looked at him expectantly, Mike had to suck it up and continue. “There’s just something I wanted to tell you. I never did because…well, you told me about your parents first and then I thought…I don’t know, that it would make you feel worse.”

“I don’t think anything can make me feel worse about it, Mike.” Harvey motioned for him to continue. “Go ahead.”

“Okay.” Mike shrugged, but he was still nervous, both about giving Harvey depressing news on top of his own story, as well as about never having told him at all. “Earlier, when I said we had nothing in common…well, we do. My dad cheated, too. I’m basically…half adopted, I guess. I don’t even know what I am.”

Harvey’s eyes widened as he soaked in what Mike was saying. But he nodded again to encourage him.

Mike looked a way for a second, and suddenly he understood the shame Harvey felt. It wasn’t Mike’s fault – he wasn’t responsible – but sometimes it was hard not to feel like he’d done something to cause all of it.

“Anyway.” He took a deep breath, “My dad begged my mom to take him back, and she did. But he’d already knocked up my real mom. No, I mean, my _real_ mom raised me, but she’s not my biological mother…”

Mike paused to see if Harvey looked confused, but so far he seemed to be following.

“You’re biological mother couldn’t keep you and your dad didn’t want to give you up.”

“Pretty much,” Mike said. “So my mom let him come back and eventually she got parental rights, too. They didn’t tell me until I was about four. I didn’t really understand it. They just said I had two moms and they both loved me but one couldn’t keep me.”

“Did you ever meet her? Your biological mother?”

“Yeah.” Mike nodded. “After they told me, they let me see her, usually once a month. I remember my parents arguing once over something to do with court and now that I’m older it all makes sense.”

“She was suing for visitation.” Harvey was always a step ahead, and Mike smiled, albeit sadly.

“Yeah. I guess she got it, because she’d pick me up and take me to the park and buy me candy, and my parents seemed really stressed out about it. But I didn’t really know why, ‘cause she was really nice. I loved my parents, but I always wished they’d let me see her more.”

“Do you see her now?”

“We…we lost touch after my parents got killed. They were the only ones who knew where she lived and how to reach her. I mean, I was eleven and I didn’t even know her last name. I looked through papers I found but I couldn’t find anything.”

“Your birth certificate?”

Mike shrugged. “Found it once, but it had already been changed. My grandmother wouldn’t talk to me about it and I don’t know how much she knew anyway. So I started to think if my mother wanted me, she’d find me, somehow. But she never came.”

“Have you looked for her?” Harvey asked. His voice was gentle, but it was clear that it was all hitting a little too close to home.

“I don’t even know where to look, Harvey. And it’s been more than ten years. I was so confused because…she said she loved me, and she was sorry I couldn’t live with her. But my parents died and she vanished. I didn’t know what to think. I guess part of me is still angry at her.” Mike quickly wiped his eyes. “Because…it was like being abandoned twice.”

Harvey watched and then it was his turn to reach out and take Mike’s hand.

“Mike. I’m sorry.”

“I just thought…I don’t know. I’m not trying to equivocate, I just thought you might feel…less alone, or something.”

“I do,” Harvey assured him, and he tugged a little on Mike’s hand. “Come here.”

Mike leaned into Harvey’s shoulder and all it took was several seconds for him to realize how much he’d missed him, even if it had only been a week. It didn’t seem to matter that’d been working together as usual for that period. It hadn’t been the same – it hadn’t been _enough –_ and now that Mike knew he could have Harvey, at least more than before, he wanted to hold on and not let go.

But after a few minutes, Harvey peeled him off and just looked at him.

“Do you…want to stay here?” Mike asked. “I mean, it’s not…”

“Actually. I was thinking we could go out for dinner.”

“Really?”

Harvey nodded. “I mean, if you want to.”

“Like…a date?” Mike asked hopefully.

“Yeah, you could call it that.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

“You might want to change your shirt, rookie,” Harvey suggested, looking at it with a little disdain.

Mike pretended to be insulted. “What’s wrong with my shirt?”

“Well, I’m not taking you to a bar in Queens, for one.”

“Fine.”

“Hurry up, we have reservations at nine.”

“Wait, how did you know I’d go?”

“I didn’t,” Harvey admitted. He watched Mike pull on a cleaner, more suitable shirt, and shrugged. “I just hoped you would.”

Mike shook his head, but he smiled. And then, repressing his excitement, he followed Harvey out the door.

 

*

 

It was amazing how fast things turned around for the better after that. Mike noticed that by communicating, Harvey had taken a million pounds off both their shoulders. And, it seemed, that Mike confiding in him had given him a reason to believe that not everyone was prone to infidelity; that betrayal was an irrational fear, not a relationship default.

Neither of them was exiled to the couch anymore. They fell asleep in the bed, at first with a few inches between them. But then Mike stopped being able to resist putting his head against Harvey’s shoulder, or his arm across his stomach. For several nights, he waited until Harvey was asleep to snuggle up against him, because he figured he could use rolling over in his sleep as an explanation if Harvey ever started to feel smothered. After a while, though, Mike stopped waiting for him to go to sleep, and boldly wrapped his arm around him. Harvey never moved away.

 

“Fuck, Mike, you’re good at that,” he whispered, tugging Mike from under the covers and up to his mouth. “Come here.”

It was a Thursday night, and everything was perfect, and Mike didn’t think he deserved any of it, but if Harvey was willing to keep him, he’d stay as long as he was wanted.

“I learned from the best,” Mike said, once he’d broken their kiss.

“I know.”

“Arrogant.”

“You love it,” Harvey told him, and Mike just put his head on his chest because it was true.

They lied in bed for a long time before either one of them spoke again.

And then, with his hand in Mike’s hair, Harvey said, “I have to tell Jessica about us.”

Mike answered slowly, eventually forcing out, “I know.”

“But I don’t think we should tell anyone else at the firm. Not because…not because I’m trying to hide this, Mike. And not because of me. Because it would jeopardize you, too. Whenever you succeed at anything, people would cry favoritism, say we’re violating the anti-fraternization rule.”

“Well, we are.”

“I know, that’s why I want to protect you from all that.”

“I just…” Mike sighed. “Not being able to tell anyone, it makes it sound like we don’t have a future.”

“I didn’t say that,” Harvey told him. “We just need to take it slow. Not here, but at work. And I think it’s a good idea anyway. Work’s been fine, even before this. I think we can do it. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good boy. You know it’s not because I want you to be a secret, right? Because that’s not what this is. It’s not what this is at all.”

“Yeah, I know,” Mike conceded, drawing circles with his fingers on Harvey’s skin. “I just…sometimes I wish we could’ve met under different circumstances, you know? Like when we were younger. Before I screwed up. Before we worked together and couldn’t tell anyone. Then it wouldn’t be so complicated.”

“I don’t know,” Harvey said, thoughtful. “Maybe this is how it was supposed to be.”

Mike looked up, a little surprised. “You believe in fate?”

“Not really. I just…a lot of things fell into place that day.”

“Yeah. A little too ironic, don’t you think?”

Harvey shook his head and feigned disappointment. “Quote something else or I’m kicking you out of bed.”

“What?” Mike asked innocently. _“It’s a traffic jam, when you’re already late—”_

“Okay, on the foor,” Harvey announced, gently shoving him off and onto the other side of the bed. “I’m taking a shower. Stop singing or I’m locking the door.”

“Fine, fine, geez.” Mike got up and followed, laughing the whole way into the bathroom. “I understand if it makes you feel old, it’s okay.”

“I’m not—” Harvey rolled his eyes. “Will you just get in here and take off your clothes?”

“Yes sir.”

 

It wasn’t until Mike was under the running water that he remembered something else, another question he’d come so close to asking, but hadn’t. It had been running through his brain for weeks now, ever since they went from _fuckbuddies_ to _boyfriends._

“We do have one, though, right?” He looked at Harvey with hopeful eyes. “A future?”

“Yeah, kid.” Harvey nodded through the spray of the shower. “I hope so.”

Mike exhaled. That was all he needed to hear.

 

*

 

Mike was in a good mood on Friday morning. He marched into Harvey’s office.

“Hey.”

Harvey looked up at him and smiled. Anyone else wouldn’t think twice if they saw it, but Mike knew it meant more. It meant they’d hit the four month mark and they were better for it.

“Donna said Marcus is coming to visit?”

“Yeah. Needs a break from Harvard and he’s taking a week off.”

Mike scoffed and sat down on the couch. “I guess everyone’s a real lawyer but me.”

“Don’t start,” Harvey said. “He’s struggling there, hasn’t been a walk in the park. If he had your memory, he could’ve skipped it too.”

“Whatever,” Mike sighed. “So is he staying with us—I mean, you, like, at your place?”

“He’s my brother, Mike. I’m not going to put him in a hotel.”

“Right. Yeah, sorry.” Mike paused, fiddling with a pen. “So…does that mean I can’t stay there?”

“Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know, just with the whole not telling anyone...”

Harvey stopped what he was doing, giving Mike his full attention. “This is different, Mike. And he’s gonna figure it out in fifteen minutes anyway. Can’t slip anything past him. You’ll understand when you meet him.”

“Ah, so he can read people too. Must be a Specter thing.”

Before Harvey could even roll his eyes, Donna was peeking into the room.

“Can we start a pool? I wanna put my money on forty-five seconds. You know, before he figures out you two are—”

“We’re not betting on this, Donna!”

“Fine. But I want it on record. Forty-five seconds!”

Mike laughed and turned back to Harvey, “Well?”

“I’m meeting him tomorrow when he gets off the train. Eight o’clock. If you want to come, you can.”

 

*

 

It turned out that meeting Marcus wasn’t as nerve-wracking as Mike was afraid it would be. A handshake, helping him with his suitcases, and realizing how much he was like Harvey – maybe even a little more mellow – put Mike at ease.  

As promised, things didn’t really change. Mike still went home with Harvey, usually only stopping by his own place for new clothes, or occasional nights that Harvey was out attending work related functions that associates couldn’t go to. But usually, even on those nights, Harvey was his (professional) plus one. And aside from the occasional raised eyebrow from Jessica, no one ever questioned it.

At night, they watched TV until they fell asleep, or until one of them started touching, which spiraled into kissing, and from there Mike struggled to stay quiet while Harvey laughed and told him he could scream if he wanted to.

“Harvey, it’s weird, what if he hears us?”

“So what? He doesn’t care.”

“Okay, but… _fuck._ Okay, nevermind, I don’t…care… _either.”_

 

In the mornings, unless they were running late, Harvey made breakfast and they talked like it had been years that they’d been together as something more than colleagues. Only now, Marcus was at the counter with them, and it still felt, for the most part, easy and normal.

Part of Mike wondered if he talked to Harvey about him. Not that Mike was paranoid, but he was curious if Marcus approved – only because he knew Harvey valued his brother’s opinion.

“So, Mike,” Marcus said, on a Wednesday morning. “How’d you like Harvard?”

Mike was caught off guard by the question. Harvey had never discussed with him whether or not it was okay to disclose the secret, but one glance at his boyfriend making a neck-slicing gesture from across the kitchen, and Mike got his answer.

“Um, it was great, actually. I mean, it was hard but…well, sorta.”

Marcus laughed through a sip of coffee. “You can tell the truth. You breezed through it, didn’t you?”

Technically, Mike hadn’t been there to ‘breeze through it,’ but if he had been, well, he would have.

“Yeah.”

“That’s good. I’m…it’s a lot harder for me.” Marcus nodded toward Harvey. “He got the brains. I got, like, a decent percentage of it.”

“But you got in.”

“Barely.”

Harvey walked forward and cut in, “He’s just being modest. He’s doing fine. It’s Harvard, after all. It’s not supposed to be easy, Marcus.”

 

*

 

Mike knew that Harvey deserved alone time out with his brother, probably eating expensive food and drinking top shelf bourbon while they caught up. But Mike still felt a pang of jealousy, and little lonely, as he sat on Harvey’s couch and channel surfed.

They may have only been _together-_ together for several weeks, but Mike had gotten used to spending all his time with Harvey. Even one night apart was painstaking. He wasn’t blind to the fact that this was incredibly codependent, but he didn’t really care, and if his texts were a little incessant – Harvey hadn’t complained so far.

 

*

 

Marcus was leaving the following Sunday, so Harvey had made plans for all three of them to go out one more time on Saturday night.

Mike was afraid he’d feel like the third wheel during familial bonding time, but by the evening he was too excited about being included that he stopped worrying about it.

Then, around seven o’clock, Harvey regretfully explained that Jessica was dragging him meet a client that couldn’t, apparently, wait until the next week.

“What? Seriously?” Mike was in Harvey’s office, voice verging on a disappointed whine. “You _promised.”_

“Mike, I know. I’m sorry. If I could get out of this, believe me, I would.”

Mike pouted a little longer and then sighed. “I know. It’s fine.”

“Listen, why don’t you just go without me?” Harvey suggested. “The reservations are already made. I know you both were looking forward to it.”

“Harvey, I don’t want to go _without_ you. That was the whole point!”

“Next week, we’ll go out. I promised. Just us. Wherever you want to go.”

“Really?”

“On one condition.”

“What?”

“You go out with Marcus tonight and if I come up in conversation, try not to act so possessive.”

Mike scoffed. “I’ve been perfectly nice to him.”

“And standoffish. And quiet.”

“But I don’t even know him.”

“Which is why you should go and get to know him better.”

“Harvey…”

“I’m not gonna make you go, Mike. But I wish you would.” Harvey sighed and leaned back in his chair. “I want him to know the guy I’m practically living with. And besides, you’ll have fun.”

“Really?”

“Sure. He’s a lot younger than me. You two are probably more alike than you think.”

Mike didn’t really need any more convincing. Harvey had made a good case, and letting him down wasn’t something Mike ever wanted to do.

“You owe me,” he said when passed by Harvey’s desk.

“Monday night. I’ll make it up to you.”

“I’m holding you to that.”

Harvey laughed. “Get out of here.”

 

*

 

Harvey was right. Annoyingly, perpetually right.   _As usual,_ Mike thought.

Just fifteen minutes after moving from a table to the bar at a stupidly high-end restaurant, Mike realized how comfortable the night had been so far. Marcus was like Harvey, only a little more easy going and soft spoken, which Mike could relate to. He reminded Mike of Harvey in other ways, of course, but…also of himself. Which was a somewhat surprising development, but it made sense. Like Harvey had said, they were close in age and they were both (almost) lawyers.

Almost in unison, they each ordered Jack and Coke, paused, and then laughed.

“Good choice,” Marcus said, and he raised his glass in a toast. “I don’t know how Harvey drinks whiskey straight.”

“I drink it with him sometimes,” Mike said, and he smiled at the thought. “But I don’t like it as much.”

 

They continued drinking and talking – mostly about Harvey and Harvard – for what could have been hours. Honestly, Mike was way too buzzed to keep track of the time.

 “Probably a good thing we didn’t open a tab,” Marcus remarked, setting down a glass a little too hard. “I might not have been able to walk.”

“I’ve learned to pace myself,” Mike said. “Sorta.”

Every fifteen minutes, he glanced at his phone to see if Harvey was home yet, but so far there were no new messages.

An hour before closing time, he figured Harvey was already asleep. Mike was still a little lightheaded and he was anxious to leave, crawl into bed, and put his head on Harvey’s chest. Because that was the only place he felt like he belonged now; the only real place he felt safe.

Marcus was ready to go by then, too, and he took out his wallet before Mike could dig a credit card from his pocket.

 “Hey, I got this,” he said.

Marcus shook his head, “It’s no problem.”

“No, really, if I let you pay Harvey will kill me.”

“Harvey’s been paying for me since I was a teenager. The least I can do is buy us drinks.”

Mike sighed. “Alright. Thanks.”

“Sure.” Marcus smiled politely when the bartender came over, and flipped open his wallet to pull out a credit card.

That’s when Mike saw them – two wallet sized pictures, the top one a clear picture of Harvey and a little boy – Marcus, he assumed – and a man that _had_ to be their father because he looked _just_ like Harvey.

But it was the picture below it that really caught Mike’s attention; made him lean in closer while Marcus still held the wallet open in lieu of getting his card back.

And then… _wait._ Mike’s heart picked up in speed a little and he frowned, trying to concentrate…trying to get closer without looking weird.

Nothing sank in, though, no matter how hard or how long he stared at the picture. In fact, he was a million percent positive he was a hundred percent wrong – he _had_ to be.  It was a little strange, but certainly it was nothing. He just wanted to point out to Marcus that their mothers looked alike – a lot alike – and that was… _funny._ And interesting. But completely innocent, he told himself. _A coincidence._  

“Is that your mother?” he finally asked, hoping if he did then Marcus would let him have a closer look.

Sure enough, Marcus scribbled down a tip and signature, and then held the wallet up where Mike could really see it.

Mike thought he was going to stop breathing, but his brain was resisting his crazy assumptions; nothing was clicking in his mind the way it usually did. The woman in the picture was a lot younger than he remembered his mother being. And she was holding a toddler that wasn’t him – but who looked vaguely familiar.

Before Mike could speak, Marcus went on a proud, sentimental tangent. “Yeah, that’s her. She’s holding Harvey here. I wasn’t born yet, but I really like this picture of them. Especially because we don’t see her anymore.”

“W-why not?” Mike wanted to know if he was going insane or not, so he tried to control his voice as he casually pried.

“Oh, well, she left when I was a teenager. Harvey was about twenty at the time. She did it a lot, you know, leaving for a long time. But one time she just didn’t come back. Turns out she’d been having affairs and…I guess my dad found out, because they split up.”

“Oh. What…uh…what was she like?”

“It depended on the week,” Marcus explained. “Sometimes she was there, making us breakfast, getting us ready for school, and other times – most of the time – she was just gone, and I didn’t know why. So Harvey would cook, and wake me up and get me dressed and on the bus.”

He paused, and shook his head. “Our dad wasn’t around much either, so when he left, Harvey just…had to take over, be both of them for me. I still wonder if he resents me for that.”

“He doesn’t,” Mike said. “Trust me. The way he talks about you, there’s no way he resents you for anything all.”

“Either way,” Marcus went on. “He shouldn’t have had to do that. I mean, he was just a kid too. So, yeah, sometimes I still hate her for that…for making him grow up so soon. And because she yelled at him a lot, but I never knew what they were fighting about. When she was around, he’d ignore her, go to his room and blast music.”

“…But I couldn’t hold a grudge. I was little and…she was good to me when she was there. She brought presents and candy and took me to the park. Never Harvey, though. For some reason they always seemed to hate each other. I just figured he couldn’t forgive her for leaving us alone all the time.” Marcus shrugged, “Then I found out about the cheating and I understood a lot better, and I got angry too. I didn’t see her after that and Harvey used to tell me it was for the best, he said, _I’d rather have no mother at all than one that’s a whore._ But I still loved her. I mean, I still do. She’s my _mother,_ you know? I think I blocked out the bad times. More than Harvey could, anyway. So this is really the only picture I have of them together. Harvey might have some, but he probably put them through a shredder by now.” Marcus stopped and laughed, a little wounded but trying to make light of it all the only way he knew how.

Mike listened intently to Marcus, but his mouth was going dry by the end. “What, uh, what was her name?” he asked. “I mean, I’m just curious. Harvey talks a lot about your father but he’s never really said much about her.”

It wasn’t the whole truth – Harvey had actually confided a lot about his mother – but one thing was true: he’d never told Mike her name, almost in an effort to keep her nameless, like giving her one made her sound important; worthy of more respect than Harvey could manage.

“Doesn’t surprise me,” Marcus muttered. “Honestly, I don’t even bring her up to him. We haven’t talked about her in years.” He put his wallet away, looking more than a little conflicted. “Anyway, her name’s Lily.”

“Can we…can we go now? I mean, I’m not trying to rush, I just…I don’t feel that great.” Mike was already sliding off the bar stool.

“Yeah, of course.” Marcus looked vaguely alarm at Mike’s sudden movement, but he hurried to follow. “I’m ready if you are.”

Outside, Mike felt like he could finally get some air. And while they waited for a taxi to come by, he struggled to put the pieces together. The woman in the picture looked identical to his mother; ten years younger, but Mike would recognize her anyway, he was sure of it. And their names were the same. Not a terribly uncommon one, but _still,_ what were the chances.

Yet the mother that Marcus described wasn’t the mother Mike had known.  Not even close. _His_ mother may not have seen him all the time, but when she did, she’d been warm and maternal. Never once raised her voice the way Marcus claimed she’d done with Harvey for years.

Then again, Mike remembered, she _had_ left. She’d left and she’d never come back. Never even _looked_ for him. Unless something had happened to her – which would’ve made Mike the unluckiest kid in the world to lose all _three_ of his parents in a year – then maybe she _was_ the mother Marcus was talking about.

Mike still couldn’t process it. Some of the facts lined up in his head, only to be immediately discredited with other ones. He even briefly entertained the idea that maybe this was all a joke. But no – Harvey wouldn’t joke about something like this. He barely even talked about it when he didn’t feel like it was absolutely necessary.

So all Mike knew was that he didn’t _really_ know anything.

On the ride back to Harvey’s, he stared out the window, and all he could think was: _What the fuck is going on?_

 

*

 

Back at the condo, Mike battled down his anxiety long enough to agree with Marcus that going out had been great. And it had been. Until it wasn’t.

They said goodnight, Marcus disappeared into the guest room, and Mike made a beeline into Harvey’s. There was enough light from the bathroom that he could make out Harvey’s silhouette, and for a minute, he stood in the doorway, just watching.

But it was nearly three in the morning and Mike couldn’t stop yawning, or stay awake any longer coming up with conspiracy theories, so he pushed them all into the back of his mind, took off his jeans and carefully climbed under the covers.

Harvey didn’t wake up, but he stirred long enough to realize Mike was in bed, and instinctively pulled him close with one arm around his waist.

That was all it took for Mike to fall asleep.

 

*


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should warn there's a lot of angst in the next chapter. But also some kind of resolution.
> 
> Thanks for reading! :)

*

 

Saturday meant that Harvey and Marcus were making up for their lost night out. They went to the gym mid-morning, and while they were gone, Mike headed to his apartment.

He needed to grab some clothes anyway, so he could stop wearing Harvey’s, and sometimes he needed to go there to remind himself that he still had his own place. But he wasn’t sure why.

Harvey hadn’t _officially_ asked him to move in. The topic never came up, although Mike stayed there ninety percent of the time. Mike wondered more than a few times if it was because Harvey wanted him to have a backup; somewhere to go if they broke up. That idea made it seem inevitable, so Mike tried not to dwell on it.

 

Once inside, he glanced around at the way he’d left it: mostly clean, with a few clothes here and there. The heater was off, though, and it was cold. He shivered once, and then got started doing what he’d really come to do: digging through his belongings so frantically that by the time he was finished, his heart was racing and the place looked like the scene of a burglary committed by someone with a bad hangover.

But he found what he was looking for: a small picture album he’d had packed away for years. The first few were of his parents, some of them together, some of them with him, all from as a baby up until he was about ten. They were good times. He never even remembered his parents ever being angry at him.

There were a few with his grandmother too, but sadly, they’d never taken very many before she passed away.

And then, in the back, after a few empty slots, was his mother. Just two pictures, the only ones ever taken of them. His parents didn’t know about them, and he doubted they’d ever offered to take them. The first was him, in the hospital, probably hours old, and he assumed it had been snapped by a nurse. The edges were discolored, but otherwise the picture was still clear, even after more than twenty years.

The second picture, Mike remembered like it was yesterday – his brain had mentally photographed it and everything about that occasion was cemented in his head.

 

They’d been in Central Park, near a playground. Mike remembered he was eight then, and that the red shirt he’d been wearing was from his grandmother. Vividly, he recalled finding other kids to play with, but always running back to his mother to check in. Even at that age, he knew their time together was limited to forty eight hours.

She’d pulled him up onto the bench beside her and said, “I can’t even pick you up anymore!”

And Mike had giggled and leaned against her, his legs swinging, not quite reaching the ground. He could still remember the details: it was summer, sunny, there was a breeze, and his mother’s perfumed smelled like vanilla and flowers.

Around his parents, he’d never called her ‘mom’. They’d never explicitly said he couldn’t, but they referred to her at home as Lily, and Mike had been able to tell he should do the same unless they were alone.

When he was four he’d asked, “I can call you mommy too, right?” and Lily had looked down at him, eyes almost watering, her hand holding his. “Of course you can, baby.”

 

Mike’s mind wandered back to the park, back to shouting, “I wanna go pet that dog, mom!” when he spotted a teenage girl with a puppy several yards away.

“Okay,” she’d replied, as he practically leapt off the bench. “But ask first, Mike!”

When she’d finally come to pry him from the dog fifteen minutes later, and tell him it was time to go home, Mike recalled wanting to cry, and barely managing not to. Noticing how close he was to tears, though, Lily had pulled a disposable camera from her purse.

Turning toward the girl, she’d asked, “Would you mind taking our picture?” and the stranger agreed sweetly, and that was how Mike ended up with it; with Lily kneeling, smiling, both arms around him, her chin resting on his head.

Looking back, he realized that she must have known in a few years she wouldn’t see him again. Mike never understood why, but what he did know was that, at least for the seven years they’d known each other, she’d loved him.

When the time came that she stopped showing up, he’d just turned eleven. His parents were gentle about telling him _‘she won’t be coming around anymore,’_ but that was the extent of their explanation. And then, five months later, they were dead. And a police officer and a social worker were dragging him kicking and screaming out of school, telling him what happened, that he had to go with them, that they were sorry, but he was safe, and he was going to stay somewhere else for a while.

In the backseat he’d sobbed and screamed like he was five years old again, shook and hyperventilated until the woman beside him pulled him into a hug and apologized again and again. She’d been kind and warm and he’d accepted the embrace out of desperation, but in that moment, she was the enemy. And Mike had hated her.

 _“I want my mom!”_ he’d cried into her shoulder. “Please!”

 The woman had shushed him and rubbed his back and said sorry again and again, even teared up a little when she told him, for the fourth time in two hours, “I’m so sorry, honey, she’s not coming back. There was a bad accident, and your mom and dad got hurt. The doctors did everything they could, but they had to let them go. I’m so sorry.”

But Mike had been in denial, and kept begging for his parents until the truth started to set in, and he realized he had to start bargaining for whatever it was he had left. So he’d asked again, and this time his voice was quiet and raw from crying. “My mom. My other mom, you _have_ to find her. Please.”

The social worker had frowned in confusion, but Mike was insistent. “What’s her name, sweetheart?”

“Lily,” Mike had choked out.

“Do you know her last name?”

“No. They never t-told me. Just please…please _find_ her.”

“Okay. Okay, we will.”

But they never did find her, and Mike had bounced from group home to group home for six weeks, surrounded by people who were kind, but who were complete strangers. He’d spent days staring out the window, but his mother never showed, and he’d waited and waited and waited until his grandmother was well enough to take him in.

Sometimes he felt like he was still waiting.

 

*

 

Mike had a clear mental image of the picture Marcus had in his wallet. Comparing it, thinking about all of the things Marcus had told him, and doing the math in his head – made his stomach drop like a thousand bricks in his gut.

 _There’s no way,_ he thought. _There can’t be._

But tangible photographs in living color didn’t lie.

 

He couldn’t bring himself to go back to Harvey’s that night. Telling himself it was because he just wanted to give Harvey and Marcus some space – and because they’d probably be out late anyway – Mike turned on the heater, sent a quick text, and went to bed.

_Crashing at my place tonight. See you tomorrow._

 

*

 

Sunday, Mike couldn’t sleep in. Which was weird, since he almost never got out of Harvey’s bed until well after eleven on the weekends.

And it came back to him – that he wasn’t at Harvey’s, and why.

 

It was about two o’clock when he did go back, letting himself in with the key he’d had for months now. Opening the door was always a little surreal; like he wasn’t _supposed_ to belong there, but he did. And screw all the voices that had ever told him he didn’t.

There was a note on the fridge that he found quickly.

_Taking Marcus to the train station. Back soon. –H_

And Mike sighed, took a bottle of water, and felt like a jerk for forgetting Marcus was leaving, and for not seeing him off – or at least saying goodbye.

But part of Mike thought that might have been a good thing.  There were so many questions he wanted to ask, he was afraid that the longer Marcus was there, the harder it would be for Mike to stay quiet.

 

Harvey got home in the evening, and they ate in comfortable silence. Mike eventually apologized.

“Don’t worry about it, Mike. You got to know each other. He likes you, he approves, whatever. Relax.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“So…” Mike looked down at his food. “He talked about me?”

Harvey laughed. “Mike, he didn’t come here to make you pass some test.”

“But he thinks we’re good together? He thinks I deserve you?”

“Of course. But you know it wouldn’t matter if he didn’t.”

Mike’s concern in that regard was tempered, enough so that he was able to finish his food. But after that, his brain was still restless.

“We talked…” he began, although his voice – and courage – was already pathetically failing. “Me and Marcus, I mean. About….stuff.”

Harvey looked away from the TV and stared expectantly. “Stuff?”

“I don’t know.” Mike shrugged. “Our parents. I mean, your parents. And my parents.”

“So that was a pretty depressing conversation, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Harvey still seemed burnt out from the time they’d both discussed the same thing, months earlier, and he looked content to not start again. So eventually, Mike cleared their plates before returning to the living room, settling in next to Harvey and resting his head on his shoulder in silence.

“Tired?” Harvey asked after several minutes.

Mike could hardly lift his head to nod, but he replied, “Uh-huh.”

“Go to bed. I’m right behind you, okay?”

 

If Mike fell asleep twenty minutes before Harvey got in bed that night, it wasn’t because he tried to.

But it was probably for the best.

 

*

 

Mike was tired Monday morning. So tired, in fact, that the weekend’s revelations didn’t catch up with him until he and Harvey were already at work.

From there, it felt like slow motion plane crash.

He was sitting in his cubicle, doing his work diligently, trying not to think about Marcus or his mom or that picture. He focused all of his concentration on the case they were working and he did it so intently that he didn’t let the thoughts take over.

But then, in the middle of a five minute breather where he went to grab a bottle of water, the ultimate game-changer in the whole puzzle hit him so hard he had to go to the men’s room just so he could use the sink to hold himself up.

Until that moment, he’d been so busy just trying to understand what was happening; trying to comprehend that it was reality and not some horribly twisted dream he couldn’t wake up from. But now it was all slotting together so rapidly, it finally occurred to him that he had _no idea_ how to handle it.

He splashed water on his face so rapidly that it soaked the collar of his shirt.

 _Holy shit,_ he thought. _We’re brothers._

*

 

Later in the day, he made a weak attempt to get it all off his chest. So, finding his boyfriend – and boss, mentor, colleague (and how had _that_ happened?) – in his office, Mike used all of his energy to stay remarkably composed.

“Harvey, can we talk for a sec?”

“What is it, Mike?” Harvey barely glanced up, just snapped his fingers and asked, “Do you have the—”

“Yes,” Mike answered. “They’re finished, on my desk.”

“Well, do you think you could put them on _my_ desk?”

If Mike wasn’t such a mess inside, he probably would’ve rolled his eyes. Because Harvey didn’t ask the way he used to, all condescending and impatient. It was more of a mockery of those days, but still with a tinge of _hurry-up-I’m waiting._

“I will, but can we just…can we just talk first?”

It occurred to Mike that Harvey’s open office in the middle of a busy Monday wasn’t the ideal place – if ever there was one – to break the news. So when Harvey asked him if he was okay, he lied and said he was.

“Good. Then can this wait? We really need to get going on this, and if it was up to me I’d let this client sweat for a while but you know how Jessica is, so—”

“I—sure, yeah,” Mike interrupted. “It can wait. I’ll go get the papers.”

 

*

 

On the way home, in the back of the town car, Harvey was talking and laughing with Ray, mostly about things that had happened years before Mike was ever in the picture.

With Harvey’s hand resting on his leg, like always, Mike closed his eyes and just breathed.

 

At home – because it felt like the only one he’d ever had, whether or not he _officially_ lived there – the picture of his mother was burning a hole in his pocket.

But taking it out was like touching fire, and every time he tried, he just couldn’t bring himself to. It was a conversation he had to have, but there was no instruction manual that told him how to do it, and every time he opened his mouth, it felt like it closed all on its own.

For hours, he tried to think of new and creative ways to bring up the topic, but when he did, Harvey didn’t take the bait. It was a touchy subject anyway, and Mike would never be cruel enough to push.

So when it was eleven o’clock and Harvey was pulling him down the hall and into bed, Mike still hadn’t told him.

Instead of that moment being the point where it would all spill off his lips – because it _had_ to – Mike couldn’t do it. Harvey was kissing him, touching him, and for the first time Mike could see _beyond_ the revelation, all the way to the aftermath.

“I love you,” he said, a little sudden but not on accident. “I love you so much.”

Harvey smiled, his hands deftly working Mike’s belt open, and breathed, “I know. I love you too.”

“No matter what?’

“Yes. Come on, stop talking and take my shirt off.”

Mike did, but he wasn’t satisfied with Harvey’s answer yet. He believed him, but he wasn’t sure it was enough confirmation to get him to stop freaking out.

“No matter what, though, like—you’re not gonna change your mind, or leave, or—”

“No.”

“Promise?”

“I promise, Mike,” Harvey assured him. “But maybe you’ll get it through your head if you finally break the lease on that shitty apartment of yours.”

“Wait, I can move in? Like completely?”

“Completely.”

After that, Harvey leaned down to kiss him, and Mike couldn’t have said anything else even if he wanted to. He still could’ve stopped it, though, but he didn’t.

He just held on.

 

*

 

By Tuesday night, the longer he waited, the longer he waited, the more anxious he became, the more he couldn’t find the words. It was the most vicious cycle he’d ever found himself trapped in

Harvey was talking about court when they got home, and Mike was listening, but he wasn’t hearing any of it.

He was so caught up in his own head that by the time Harvey was out of the shower, and they had food in front of them, and a Netflix menu on the TV, Mike didn’t even hear the voice register in his brain.

“Mike. _Mike.”_

“What? Yeah.”

Harvey frowned. “Are you okay?”

“Sorry.”

“I asked what you wanted to watch. It’s not exactly a yes or no question. And you haven’t touched your food, either.”

“I know…” Mike ran his hands over his face, but the fatigue he was trying to scrub away wasn’t from a lack of sleep. “I’m just…distracted.”

“With?”

“I…”

“Mike.” Harvey took another bite of food, and then, more insistently, “Mike. Talk to me.”

“Marcus showed me a picture,” Mike said, _finally,_ and the relief that came with it was almost enough to balance out the terror and the nerves. “I mean, I saw it—and then he showed it to me.”

Harvey looked interested, and a little confused, but he kept eating and casually motioned for Mike to continue.

“It was you. With your mom.”

“Mike…” Harvey’s longsuffering sigh and head shake was painful. “Can we not talk about this? I thought we got all it out in the open the night we got back together? You really need to go back there again?”

“This is different.”

“How?”

“Because…when I saw it, it looked…I recognized…and…” Mike knew he was stuttering helplessly, and he was actually thankful when Harvey cut in.

“Yeah, you recognized me. Look, Mike, I know what picture you’re talking about. I have it too. I just…don’t carry it around. I don’t look at it.”

“No, Harvey, I didn’t recognize you. I mean, I did. Well, at first I thought it was Marcus but then I realized it wasn’t…” Mike took a deep breath, “I recognized her. I recognized your mother and then—”

Harvey rolled his eyes. “Congratulations. Can we eat now?”

Confused, Mike looked across to the chair where Harvey was sitting, still eating as if the subject had been dropped.

“Harvey, I’ve never _seen_ her. Not before that. I mean, you never showed me any pictures of her. You never told me what she looked like.”

“What are you trying to say, Mike?” Harvey sounded a little exasperated, but his tone was gentle.

“I don’t know how to say it.”

“Jesus Christ, kid. You’re making my head hurt.”

Mike was still hesitating because these were nights that meant the world to him. When it was just the two of them, outside of work, where they didn’t have to pretend. They ate together and they laughed together and it was an unspoken confirmation that they were really a couple. They were _happy._ Mike was positive he couldn’t live without moments like this one – without _Harvey –_ but here he was, about to take a sledgehammer to the only sense of peace he’d ever known.

He’d never admit it, but for a few fleeting seconds, he considered not telling Harvey at all. If Harvey hadn’t found out in twenty-three years – what were the chances he ever would?

But that was crazy. With their relationship still in its infancy, Mike knew he couldn’t start it off with a lie – it would eat him alive for the rest of his life. So he dug the picture out of his pocket – where he’d been keeping it for days, desperately hoping it would just vanish – before he had the time to decide not to. He placed it on the coffee table where Harvey tentatively picked it up, and for an agonizing fifteen seconds, just stared at it.

Mike didn’t breathe.

When Harvey finally did look up, his expression was unreadable for the first time since they’d met.

“What the hell is this?”

 

*


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea why this took me so long to update, sorry! Most of this was already written so to be honest I threw the ending together pretty fast...hopefully it's sufficient. Forewarning: Harvey's a big jerk but there's a happy ending, I think.

*

 

“I—her name is Lily, right?” Mike asked rhetorically, and he knew once he gained momentum, there would be no turning back. “Maiden name Morrison. She left all the time, sometimes for months, sometimes for years.”

It was all about to tip their life together on its axis, and not in the good way, more like the way the Titanic sank: slowly, and then catastrophically all at once.

Harvey either didn’t hear him, or pretended not to.

“This picture, Mike, where did you get it?”

“It’s…mine. I’ve had it for years. It’s me, Harvey. Look at it.”

 “I _am_ looking at it, Mike.”

Mike had prepared for this very second the best that he could have. He’d even imagined a dozen different scenarios of how it would all play out. None of them went over particularly well, of course, but if there was one thing he’d underestimated, it was Harvey’s reaction.

He’d braced himself for shock, wild questions, even denial – but he’d _never_ expected Harvey would blame him for it.

“This is my—”

“Mother,” Mike said. “I know. Mine too.”

He could practically _see_ the gears turning in Harvey’s head. It was almost slow motion: the paling of his skin, the tensing of his shoulders, lips drawing tight.

“I have no idea what the hell this is—” Harvey threw the photo back on the table, pushed his food away, and abruptly stood up.

Mike was ready for a freakout. Just not for it to be aimed at him.

“If this is some kind of sick joke, Mike—”

“It’s not. Harvey, I wouldn’t do that.”

“Then what the _hell?”_

 “I just…I saw the picture of you and her. I told you. Marcus had it in his wallet and I—I thought I was going crazy, so I didn’t say anything. I went and I looked and I found this.”

“You found this out _when?”_

“When we went to the bar.”

“On Friday,” Harvey said, and his voice was low and uneven; the calm before the storm. “You went to the bar on _Friday,_ Mike.”

“Yeah…?”

“And you’re just _fucking telling_ me about it _now?”_

“I…I tried to tell you sooner, I just…” Mike’s heart pounded, a warning that he was on the verge of the worst panic attack of his life. “I wanted to be completely sure—”

“I’d say this _picture_ is completely sure,” Harvey snapped, pointing, and then he went pale – just the way Mike had predicted. “You _knew_ about this? You _knew_ about this… _before_ last night? You _knew_ and you still—we still—”

Mike swallowed hard, bracing him for whatever was going to come next. They’d had fights before - professionally, personally, and some combination of the two, simply because their lives were so entwined - but he had the sudden, stomach-dropping feeling that this was going to be the one that destroyed them.

“I’m gonna throw up,” Harvey announced. He covered his mouth with his hand and rushed out of the room, chanting the whole way, “I’m gonna throw up…gonna be sick…gonna throw up.”

In two seconds, Mike was up, following Harvey into their bathroom just in time to see him dropping to his knees in front of the toilet, all the food he’d just eaten violently expelling from his mouth.

“Harvey…” Mike went in and lowered himself so he could put his hand on Harvey’s back, rubbing it in a way that was intended to comfort. “Harvey, it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.”

But Harvey ducked away from the touch like Mike’s fingers were poison or flame. He spent a few more minutes coughing while Mike lingered next to him.

And then he stood up, flushed the toilet, wiped his mouth, and washed his hands. With Mike unintentionally blocking his path, he said, “Move.”

“Harvey, what the—”Adrenaline coursed through Mike’s body, making it hard just to breathe, let alone figure out what the hell to say or do.

But Harvey was already pushing past him, walking swiftly into the kitchen for what Mike presumed was liquor. A lot of it.

“Harvey, will you please just _talk_ to me? I didn’t _know!_ I didn’t know until the weekend, I thought it was all just…It didn’t even feel _real.”_

“It isn’t,” Harvey growled, between large swallows of whiskey.

“What?”

“You don’t know what happened. You find one picture and you think you know, but you don’t.”

Mike cautiously stepped forward. Harvey’s denial was setting in, although it was even more irrational than he’d predicted. “I do. She left you and Marcus all the time, right? For months, sometimes a couple years. Where was she in 1991? 92?”

“Shut up, Mike.”

“Just _listen_ to me, Harvey. She always wore perfume, and dresses, her hair was always long, like in your picture and in mine and she—”

“I don’t know who the fuck you’re trying to describe, Mike, but that isn’t my mother,” Harvey hissed. “My mother was a slut that left us at home, alone, for months, when Marcus was _four years old._ I caught her cheating, and she said if I ever told, my dad wouldn’t believe me. He’d kick me out of the house and I’d never see my brother again. Screamed in my face for three years before I moved out. So, no, I don’t know who the fuck you described, but it isn’t her.”

Harvey downed two more drinks in three minutes, and Mike was beyond alarmed now – he was in shock.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen, Harvey! I didn’t _do_ this, _she_ did! I’m not my father, I’m not the one who cheated, I’m not the one who did anything wrong, I’m just their _kid!”_ Mike was so worked up by now, he had to take a deep breath just to calm down. “Harvey, I’m just their kid. Why are you so mad at _me?_ Why are you yelling at me?”

“Because you _should_ have known about this, Mike! You should have figured it out before we ever started this…” Harvey motioned between them in disgust. “...this thing we’re doing!”

Mike shook his head in disbelief. “You resent me, don’t you? I get it. You resent me because she was good to me, and to Marcus, but not to you, is that it?”

“I told you to shut up.”

“You keep forgetting that she didn’t just leave you. She walked out on _all of us,_ Harvey.” Mike braced himself as Harvey rounded the counter. “You lost one parent. I lost three.”

Harvey ignored him, just stared, eyes already bleary, and then he threw the half-full glass of scotch over Mike’s head, into a wall. It hit so loudly and with such force that Mike didn’t just flinch – his whole body shook.

That was when he knew nothing he said tonight was going to calm Harvey down, and he might as well ride through the storm without making it any worse.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. He knew it wasn’t really his fault, but on some level, Harvey was starting to make him believe it was. “Harvey, I’m sorry. Please say something.”

Harvey breathed through his nose, but Mike knew it was more of a seethe; more of the eye of a hurricane than anything else. “Yeah, Mike, I’ll say something. You need to pack up your shit tomorrow and get out.”

Mike’s heart felt like it physically dropped. His mouth went dry, head dizzy as if he’d drank as much as Harvey had. _This can’t be happening._

He’d expected fallout, but it _never_ occurred to him that the first thing Harvey would do was blame him -- and throw him out.

But maybe it should have.

“Harvey, why does this have to change anything? We didn’t know—why can’t we pretend we never found out? Why do I have to leave? _Harvey!”_

“Are you fucking kidding me, Mike! You think this doesn’t change anything? You think we can keep doing this? You think, what, I’m just going to keep fucking my _brother?"_

 _“Half_ brother,” Mike corrected, knowing the argument was weak.

“What the hell is the goddamn difference, Mike? This is disgusting,” Harvey was looking back at him, almost in dismay. “And if you think we’re not done? Then you’re crazy.”

There was the strong, ominous stench of liquor in Mike’s face, and when Harvey turned and walked away, the self-loathing set in. All the things Harvey had just shouted at him were slowly ripping apart any sense of self-worth Mike ever had. If that had been Harvey’s goal, he’d accomplished it.

After a few minutes of staring ahead at a wall, Mike blinked back tears, sniffled once, and then headed into the bedroom in a daze. He saw that the bathroom door was shut -- and presumably locked -- and that the shower was running. So Mike used that window of time to hastily grab a small armful of clothes from his single drawer at the bottom of Harvey’s dresser. He found a spare gym bag in the closet, shoved them inside, and when his hands were shaking too hard to zip it up, he just stopped and stared down at the bed.

It was a long enough hesitation that Mike was still there when Harvey emerged from the shower, looking pale. Mike waited nervously for another stream of vicious accusations, but instead Harvey just made his way through the room for his own clothes, ignoring Mike as if he wasn’t there at all.

The silence was almost worse than the fighting, and eventually, Mike found the nerve to speak up. “Harvey,” he started, and his voice was weak and a little raw, like he was one more insult away from breaking down and crying. “Am I--”

Harvey didn’t answer for a while, just dressed out of view. Finally, he sighed. “Are you _what,_ Mike?”

“Am I fired?”

“No. But this doesn’t get out a work. Understand? No one finds out about this. You keep your mouth shut. Got it?”

“How the fuck would this get out at work, Harvey?” Mike spun around, all his pain slowly but certainly turning to anger. “You think I’m just gonna walk in there and... _announce it?”_

“You kept this from me for _days,_ Mike! So no, I don’t really know _what_ you might do.”

Mike scoffed bitterly. “This is...this is a cop out, Harvey. You never wanted to be with me, not really. Well, congratulations, you found a good reason to end it.” He picked up the his bag of clothes and slung it over his shoulder, adding sarcastically, “So now you’re free to go back to...whatever it was you were doing before that was making you so happy.”

Harvey looked back, and Mike swore there was sadness in his expression, and it gave him the slightest sense of hope. But then Harvey turned his back, pretended to very intensely looking out the windows, and remained silent. All of Mike’s hope burned out.

He waited a few more seconds. And then he shook his head and left.

 

*

Work was horribly awkward after that. Mike tried his best to hide out in his cubicle, but at some point they had to communicate long enough to do their job. Harvey’s instructions were blunt -- _do this, do that, file this motion, be ready for court at 9_ \-- and Mike’s responses were mostly a single, slow nod of his head.

Rides in the back of the towncar were especially agonizing, with Mike stealing quick glances to try and figure out what kind of mood Harvey was in, before turning back to his side of the seat in silence.

They managed to limp by for two long weeks, but inevitably things fell apart. Professionally and personally, they were completely out of sync for the first time. Cases got messy, work didn’t get finished, and Mike had never been so stressed out before.

But as bad as it was at the office, it was worse at night, when he had to go to his own apartment, and try to make it feel like home again -- which was difficult, since he couldn’t remember it ever feeling that way in the first place. Harvey was his home -- the only one he’d ever really known -- and he’d lost him, and Mike spent hours outside of work staring up at his ceiling, painfully lonely and riddled with guilt over something he knew wasn’t his fault, but was finding new ways to blame himself for anyway.

And then, on a Monday, Harvey walked swiftly into the bullpen and motioned for Mike to follow.

“Where are we going?” Mike asked meekly, once in the elevator.

“Blood test,” Harvey said, with even less emotion in his voice than he’d use to say they were going out to lunch.

Mike’s stomach immediately began doing flips, and suddenly he felt cornered and sweaty, and scrambled for an excuse to get out of the situation. “I thought...don’t we...um...have a meeting?”

Harvey raised his eyes at Mike’s pitiful stuttering and then quickly focused his attention back on his phone. “Rescheduled it.”

The elevator continued, taking much longer to reach the first floor than Mike remembered, which probably had something to do with the fact that he was so nervous his perception of time was beginning to warp. He stepped outside and took a deep, overdue breath.

“Harvey...do we have to do this?”

“Yes.”

Ray was already waiting with the car, and Harvey didn’t seem interested in Mike’s stalling tactics.

“Okay, but...do we have to do it today? I really...uh…” Mike wasn’t making a good case, but he was trying. “I mean, I don’t feel very good.”

“We have an appointment in twenty minutes, Mike,” Harvey told him. He stood impatiently and held open the door to the backseat. “So get in.”

Mike knew enough to know that he’d lost the fight, so he swallowed hard and then finally got into the car.

 

*

They’re appointment was at an obscure genetic testing lab, and the waiting room was a little too sterile and quiet to ease any of Mike’s nerves. He fidgeted obsessively with his hands, until Harvey finally shot him a slightly terrifying look, code for _Stop._

But Mike struggled, alternating between tapping his foot and chewing on his lip. He hated doctor’s offices, hospitals, and anything medical in nature, really. He might have had an extreme case of white coat syndrome, but Harvey didn’t know that -- until now.

“What’s your problem?”

Mike’s head snapped up. “What?”

“You heard me.” Harvey scowled. “Sit still.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t like needles,” Mike admitted.

Harvey just rolled his eyes. “No one does, Mike. Suck it up.”

He picked up a magazine and began to calmly skim through it, and Mike wondered how the hell he’d gone from screaming and yelling and throwing glass to waiting patiently for a test that would ultimately determine their future -- or if they even had one at all.

“What if we are...” Mike mumbled after several minutes. He barely even phrased it as a question, almost as though he was just talking out loud to himself. Except that Harvey heard him.

“I don’t think it’s an ‘if,’ Mike. But you wanted proof I wasn’t looking for a reason to throw you out. So, here we are. You’re welcome.”

Mike stayed still after that, looking down at the floor until their names were called.

 

*

The next seven days were brutal. While work improved -- they managed to interact almost normally, solely for the purpose of productivity -- both of them knew what they were waiting for. The results loomed ahead and in the meantime, neither one of them could deal with the suspense.

Mike caved first. He showed up at Harvey’s door, hands in his pockets, eyes bloodshot, one cruel word away from breaking down into tears again. When the door opened, he blurted it all out before he had time to reconsider, or before Harvey had time to shut him out.

“Sometimes I miss you so much I can’t breathe,” he began, and he gasped in between sentences. “I don’t know what to do, Harvey. I feel like you hate me, and I know--I know I should’ve told you the same day I found out, but I didn’t, and I don’t know why. I guess--I guess I was just scared, scared that you’d leave me or you’d hate me or--something, I don’t know, but every time I tried to bring it up, I just froze. I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t lying, I just froze, Harvey, I freaked.”

Harvey just stared. He didn’t invite Mike inside, but he didn’t close the door either.

Mike took a deep, shaky breath and barreled on. “I don’t want to lose you. I _can’t_ lose you. I don’t have anyone else. I mean...do you…” he winced, almost in fear of the answer. “Do you miss me at all?”

“Mike,” Harvey sighed, and his expression gradually softened. “You know I do. But--”

“I know,” Mike interrupted. “I know. I know we can’t go back to...to before. But we can still see each other, right? I mean, why can’t we--just...hang out, if we’re brothers then--”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Say that.”

Mike frowned in confusion. “But...we are. I mean, you and Marcus, you’re really close, and...I always wanted a brother anyway, so maybe we can just--”

“Mike!” Harvey’s tone of voice shifted and Mike flinched. “Do you have any goddamn idea what you’re saying right now? Are you high? Are you drunk?”

_“No.”_

“Listen, because I’m only going to say this once. This hasn’t been a walk in the park for me, either, alright? I’m just a little better at pretending everything hasn’t gone to shit. I didn’t want this to happen, Mike. But one of us has to be the rational one, and clearly that isn’t you. So go home, and get some sleep, and try to be a little more realistic about this whole thing tomorrow.”

“Realistic?” Mike scoffed. “You already fucked me like a hundred times, Harvey. What difference does it make? So now we can’t sleep together, fine. But now that you find out we’re blood, you don’t ever wanna see me again? What kind of logic--”

“Go home, Mike,” Harvey interrupted, and closed the door.

 

*

Two more Mondays came and went and Mike shuffled dismally through the motions of work, searching for any sign on Harvey’s face or in his voice that might tell Mike if he was quietly brooding - or if he really didn’t care at all. But Harvey didn’t hold eye contact very long anymore, and his words were quick and hollow, so Mike never did figure it out.

At least, not until he was half asleep one night when he got a text, and - with a sigh and a shudder of anxiety - showed up at Harvey’s door again.

 

“Want a drink?”

Mike stared at the glass of whiskey in Harvey’s hand before declining with a shake of his head. “Why am I here? It’s one in the morning and I thought you hated me.”

“When did I say that?”

“You didn’t have to.”

Harvey sighed, heading into the living room and motioning for Mike to follow. “Sit.”

“I’m really...I really don’t want another lecture, Harvey,” Mike said, but he sat down anyway, putting his hands between his knees to keep them from twitching. “About how it’s my fault I didn’t, like, somehow miraculously just know about all this, or that our - _my -_ mom was a whore and an adulterer, because maybe that’s what she was to you, but she wasn’t to me, so I don’t think you knew her either way and I’m sorry if she treated you the way you’ve been treating me for the past month, but--”

_“Mike.”_

“What?”

“Breathe,” Harvey told him. “That’s not what this is.”

Mike didn’t realize how fast he’d been talking until Harvey stopped him. He took a deep breath. “Oh.”

“I wanted to say sorry.”

“It’s...it’s whatever, Harvey. I get it.”

Harvey leaned forward, picking up an envelope off the coffee table, and silently passing it to Mike. And that’s when Mike knew why he was there: it wasn’t a reconciliation, but a confirmation.

He studied the letter. It was sealed. “You haven’t opened it.”

“I haven’t.”

“Do you want me to?” Mike asked nervously.

“Remember when you told me that sometimes you miss me so much you can hardly breathe?”

It wasn’t really an answer, but Mike nodded once anyway, still holding the letter tightly between his fingers.

“That’s how I feel, all the time,” Harvey continued. “Ever since you left.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Look, Mike, I...what you said, about not being able to go back? You were right. We can’t go back. We can’t undo what we already did."

“So…” Mike blinked. His nerves were frayed. “What are you saying?”

“I...I don’t really know,” Harvey scrubbed a hand over his face. He looked weary. “I just know that I...I don’t want it to end. What we had before, I don’t want to give that up. I’m just trying to figure out how to...deal with it. You understand that, right?”

Mike was slumped and sad, staring down at his hands. “Yeah.”

“Alright.”

Harvey reached out and gently took the letter, then he stood up and tore it in half. He extended his hand down toward Mike, who was a little alarmed, but allowed Harvey to pull him to his feet.

“Harvey-”

“Let’s go to bed.”

“What?”

“I love you. I can’t change that. A piece of paper can’t change that.”

“But what if--”

“Shh. What you said the night you told me? You said, ‘let’s just pretend we don’t know.’”

“Yeah, and you said that was _crazy,_ Harvey.”

“And then I remembered that everything we’ve done since we met has been crazy, Mike.”

Still holding Harvey’s hand, Mike let himself be tugged toward the kitchen.

“You’re not gonna change your mind?” he asked.

Harvey shook his head. “Never, rookie,” he promised. “So, can we try this again?”

For a few seconds, Mike just stared, and then broke into a smile, throwing his arms around Harvey’s waist in total relief. At his side, he watched Harvey drop the torn envelope into the trash -- and whatever answers it held went with it.

 

 *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! I'm slowly trying to finish all my wips once and for all...


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